


Growing up and Moving on

by RosalindBeatrice



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M, McLennon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalindBeatrice/pseuds/RosalindBeatrice
Summary: Hamburg era. In which I picture what might have happened had Dot Rhone's pregnancy with Paul coincided with John getting Cynthia pregnant.
Relationships: Cynthia Lennon & John Lennon, Cynthia Lennon/John Lennon, John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney & Dot Rhone
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Growing up and Moving on

Something cracked across his window loud enough he thought it'd been broken. The alarm clock on his bedside table told him it was half midnight. Leaning out of the bed, he looked out the window and saw John standing there in the moonlight, face tilted up and arm hitched back to throw another stone. He turned up his palms in exasperation when he noticed Paul, but even from his position on the second storey and with the garden dark, Paul could see his grin. He motioned in the direction of the toilet and got out of bed to let John in.

John had wriggled most of the way up the drainpipe by the time Paul opened the window above the pan. Holding out his hand, he helped John slide face-first through the window and onto his hands and knees on the linoleum.

"The things I do for you, eh?" John said, looking up at him. He stood up and brushed himself off.

"What are you doing creeping around in people's gardens this time of night?" said Paul, yawning. As John moved closer, Paul could smell the booze on him and it was evident he was drunk.

"Needed a constitutional," said John, brushing past him to the toilet door. "Or aren't you glad to see me?"

"Sure, I suppose," Paul said, confused as he followed John into his bedroom.

"Nice kit, by the way," said John, eyeballing him. Paul was dressed in just a tee shirt and his underwear.

Ignoring John's remark, he hissed, "Shut up, you'll wake Dad."

He pulled the bedroom door closed behind them. In silence, John stumbled to the foot of his bed and Paul sat at the head, pulling the blankets up over his knees. "So why're you here, really?"

"It's Cyn," said John. The tone of his voice suggested the unthinkable. In his sleep-fuzzed state, all that Paul could think of was Julia and the accident. Something horrible had happened to Cynthia.

"What's the matter?" he said, leaning forward.

"What do you fucking think, she's pregnant!" said John. He brought his hands up to his temples.

"Are you serious?" Paul said, stomach plummeting.

"Wish I wasn't," said John, rubbing his head.

"But how did it happen?" He couldn't believe it.

John lifted one eyebrow. "What you mean, how did it happen? It's like this: when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much ..."

"Shut up," Paul said again, kicking him beneath the blankets. "I mean, after what me and Dot are going through? Why would you?"

"Oh fuck you, don't _you_ lecture me," John said, frowning at him. "I'll bet you haven't been wrapping it with all those birds from the Cavern you've been hanging 'round."

Paul, who had not been using anything with those birds from the Cavern, could not demur. "What're you going to do?" he said instead.

It was a stupid question. There was all of one option for men in their circumstances. But he had to ask it, to preserve John's illusion of choice.

"What could I do? I told her we'd get married," said John.

"Oh," said Paul. Selfishly, all he could think about was the band. They were so close to getting their break. All the questions he'd been asking himself since Dot had become pregnant would now have to be asked of John as well. Would John have to take a proper job to support Cyn? Even if he didn't, would they still have to trim back on shows? How would all the girls take finding out that their two favourite Beatles were spoken for?

Even drunk, John could read what was going on in Paul's head and he said, "Nothing's going to change with the band. I won't let it."

"Right," said Paul, deciding not to argue the point even though he felt they were well and truly fucked. "Who else knows?"

"Cyn told one of her girlfriends, but I haven't told anybody apart from you," John said. He groaned and rubbed his temples. "I don't know how I'll tell Mimi. She'll have me fucking balls for this. She hates Cynthia."

"Drag," said Paul. There wasn't anything else he could say. They'd been so close and now it might be drawing to a close. He pictured both of them living in council housing and labouring down at the docks from dawn until dusk, coming home to wailing babies, tired wives, and poorly cooked dinners. So this was growing up. Jesus what a drag.

"Yeah," said John, falling silent.

They sat there with their own thoughts for several moments. Paul was wide awake now, worry and anxiety skimming through his veins, giving him a thin frantic energy. He wanted to go for a walk, but there would be no slipping out the front door without waking his dad and he didn't fancy shinnying down and then back up the drainpipe just for the privilege of a little stroll.

They played the Cabaret on Wednesday. Brian had already lined up several shows for them in August. How on earth would John find time to marry and go on a honeymoon?

"Shall we double up?" said John, laughing in a dark sort of way.

"Yes, you can stay over," said Paul. Though it was July and not the season to share a too-small bed with another warm body, he couldn't let John face this alone tonight.

"No, I meant the weddings," said John, giving him a look.

"Oh, those," said Paul. There was that dropping sensation in his stomach again. It just wasn't possible that this was real. Not both of them together. "Did you and Cyn set a date?"

John laughed, again with a dark edge to his voice. "I told her August. Best to have it over with as soon as possible, eh? Not have it hanging over me head."

Paul gave a responding laugh, feeling guilty. "I told Dot November."

"Why d'ya want to put it off for that long?" John said. "She'll be as big as a boat by then. Everyone'll know."

"Yeah, well. They'll know anyway, won't they?" he said, the words coming out bitter. "Who sets up house when you've only just turned 20?" He didn't tell John about the secret, awful daydreams he'd been entertaining, the ones where Dot tripped down some stairs or got kicked in the stomach by some black-hearted Ted and lost the baby.

"Have a look 'round at your neighbours, mate. There's plenty already have got two or three little bastards and they can't be any older than you. We've got to face up to it. The band's all just a dream, this is what we were born into." It seemed to Paul unnecessarily bleak, but that was John for you. World's greatest pessimist and devil's advocate, even during the happy times.

"Oh come on," said Paul, though he wasn't feel very hopeful himself. "We'll muddle through it. We'll get the girls a flat in Warrington or somewhere and they can raise the kids together while we're out touring. Keep 'em out of our hair, visit the babies once or twice a week. They'd like that, you know. Dot's very fond of Cyn."

"Have you got any ale anywhere?" John said, ignoring Paul's rather pragmatic and--he thought--ingenious solution.

Paul shook his head. "With Dad around? Nah, naught but sherry. It's as old as I am, I reckon. Anyway, you're best off getting some sleep. We've got to practice tomorrow for Wednesday. You don't want to be so sick you can't see straight."

"Can't see straight anyway," said John, tapping his glasses. He seemed to have calmed down a bit, however.

"You can stay up fretting about it or you could come to bed. Or you could sneak back into Mimi's if you dare ..."

"At this time of night? Never. I want to keep me balls as long as I can," he said, standing up and swaying slightly. "Although the buggers have gotten me into trouble, haven't they?"

"Yours and mine both," Paul said, yawning. "I can't understand it really. You go with a girl for years and just when it all seems safe, pow! They go and do this. It's like they planned it."

John had stooped, undoing the laces on his shoes. "Yeah, bloody heinous." He kicked the shoes across the floor, the noise earning him another shushing, and worked his drainies down his legs. "Shove over," he said.

Paul scooted against the wall, making room, and John climbed in next to him. In a weird way, even though they'd both felt like their childhoods were over at the wise old age of twelve or so, lying next to John like this really did feel like reading the last sentence of a book. John would get a place of his own after the wedding in a few weeks, Paul would have to hunt for one too, the further along Dot became. No more comforts of home, the sweet mossy smell of his dad's pipe smoke and curling up in the bed his mum used to tuck him into. All the hours in the front room spent playing tin cars with Mike and, later, sneaking John in for three-hour writing and practice sessions over tea and biscuits, it was all finally coming to an end. It made him feel rather choked-up if he was being altogether honest. He'd swap it for The Beatles in an instant, but swapping it for Dot and a life he didn't want with her was utterly unfair.

"What are we going to do?" said John to the ceiling. "I'm fond of her, but I never intended to settle down, y'know? I'm just a kid, Paul."

**Author's Note:**

> I was going through some writing today organising it and found this. It was dated 2017 and since it seems to work as a stand-alone, I thought I'd post it. I must have intended it for a larger story, but that idea is, alas, lost to time. What I remember liking about this snippet is their totally chauvinistic attitude toward Dot and Cynthia's pregnancies, as if they had no hand in them!


End file.
